


Draw Our Life in Black and White

by i_kinda_like_writing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Art, Artist Steve Rogers, Flashbacks, M/M, Memories, Mixed Media, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Feels, also sort of, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_kinda_like_writing/pseuds/i_kinda_like_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first sketchbook Steve ever received was from Bucky. It only seemed fitting to dedicate it to him.<br/>It's filled with moments Steve captured because they meant something to him and Bucky, something nobody else would really understand. It was the one thing besides the two of them that actually knew about the love they shared.<br/>Now, so many years later, someone found it in their attic and Steve doesn't know if he'll be able to get it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Our Life in Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is another story about Steve that kind of revolves around the media. Though this one isn't so heavily focused on the media's perception, but more of Steve's reaction.  
> At certain times, it kind seems like Clint's point of view, but it's not really.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Have you seen this?” Clint asks as he walks into the Avengers’ common room. Natasha sits in the armchair closest to the door, eyes on her tablet, which is showing a funny cat video at the moment. Bruce sits on the couch, watching some home improvement show that he has no need or real desire to view. Not that Clint’s judging; they’ve all enjoyed a late night House Hunter marathon. Both of them look up at Clint’s words, Bruce’s brow furrowed in worried foreboding and Natasha’s face giving away nothing, as usual.

“What happened?” Bruce asks. Clint throws the magazine he’s holding down onto the coffee table. Everyone stares at the cover, the headline advertising _Captain America’s Old Sketchbook Found!_

“I thought they found a bunch of Steve’s old things. What’s so special about this one?” Bruce asks as Natasha picks up the magazine.

“This one apparently contains very intimate, private drawings, if you know what I mean.” Clint waggles his eyebrows along with his words, which both Bruce and Natasha rolls their eyes at. Clint huffs; he’s too funny for these old fogies.

“The man who found it is selling it to a museum,” Natasha says after skimming the article for a moment. “For a nice price, too.”

“Wait a minute.” Clint leans over her shoulder. “This guy is making a profit off of Steve’s private stuff?” He had only really glanced at the article.

“Can he do that?” Bruce asks. “Isn’t it Steve’s property?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha actually seems worried at the situation. “After this long, it might not be rightfully his anymore.” The three of them frown at this, realizing that this might not be easy for Steve to hear.

“Hi,” Steve greets as he walks into the room. The three of them freeze for a moment. Then Clint, true to character, grabs the magazine out of Natasha’s hands and throws it clear across the room.

 

*~*~*

 

Steve sneezes, which leads to a coughing fit, and when it’s over he feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Coughing takes it out of him and he’s exhausted enough as it is. His ma is out working so she has money for his medicine, even though she’s sick right now too and definitely should be resting. There’s no one here to take care of him, not that he needs it. He’s _fine_ , really.

Another coughing fit that ends with him hacking up scarily colored mucus interrupts his train of thought. Alright, maybe he isn’t fine, but he doesn’t need someone at his bedside rubbing his back and handing him glasses of water.

“Hiya, Stevie,” Bucky greets, walking into Steve’s bedroom. His greeting is met with a round of sneezing, which, of course, turns into another coughing fit. Through the fit, Bucky kneels next to the bed and rubs soothing circles into Steve’s back, muttering soft words of comfort. When it’s over, Bucky takes the glass of water off Steve’s side table and brings it to Steve’s lips for a few long sips.

“Thanks,” Steve says when Bucky pulls the glass away. Alright, maybe having someone rub his back and bring him water isn’t so bad. Bucky smiles reassuringly.

“Don’t mention it.” Bucky turns and grabs the wooden chair from the corner of the room and sets it down next to Steve’s bed. Then he sits down in it and grins at Steve. “Guess what.”

“What,” Steve says in a flat voice. Bucky shoves at him through the blankets.

“No, come on, get excited, you punk.” Steve sighs and rolls his eyes at the idiot. Why is this jerk his best friend?

“What!” Steve says with faked enthusiasm. Bucky sends him a dirty look.

“You’re gonna regret that in a few seconds.” He starts rummaging in his jacket pocket and begins to wiggle something out of it. When the item is finally retrieved, Steve realizes it’s a small book with a black leather cover. He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing.

“What did you do, Buck?” Bucky grins proudly.

“It’s an early Christmas gift; it’s a sketchbook. Here.” Bucky shoves it into Steve’s cold fingers and turns back to his own pocket. “I even got some nice pencils too, the good ones you told me about.” Bucky pulls a small bag out and gives that to Steve too.

“Buck… this is too much.” Steve looks up at Bucky with round, grateful eyes. It really is too much. A good sketchbook like this must’ve cost a fortune and these pencils are only sold at that fancy art store in Manhattan.

“I made extra cash this year, I had the means. And you deserve it; you must be bored to death sittin’ here by yourself. Now you’ll have somethin’ to do.” He looks so damn proud of himself, nerves so jittery he’s almost dancing out of his skin. Steve runs his fingers against the pages reverently, knowing Bucky will never take it back, and feels a rush of giddiness.

“I love it.” Steve grins up at him, a little worried his face might split with the glee he’s feeling.

“And I came up with a gift that I want from you,” Bucky says. He leans back in his chair and brings his sock-clad feet up to rest on the bed. After tucking his hands behind his head, posing like one of the movie stars that his younger sisters put up posters of, he smirks over at Steve. “Draw me.”

“What would I want to draw your ugly mug for?” Steve asks back, just to get some of that cockiness out of Bucky’s face. It works; Bucky sends him a dirty look, mock-offended.

“I am an extremely handsome fella, Stevie, and you are downright privileged to be able to capture my essence on page.” For a moment, they stare each other down, and then they both lose it, laughing heartily at one another. Bucky ends up falling out of his chair and Steve’s laughing turns into a coughing fit. When they both settle down, Steve agrees to the ridiculous proposition.

“I’ll do it, but only because I don’t have money to buy you another huge chocolate bar for Christmas.” Truth be told, Steve’s been saving up since Bucky’s birthday to buy him nice, sturdy gloves for his winter work down at the docks. He’s only a few dollars away, but Steve decides he’ll still buy them. This drawing is more a gift to himself anyway.

Bucky poses again, his movie-star type one, and Steve gets to work. He’s wanted to draw Bucky for years now. So far he’s only managed parts, like his hands turning pages of a book or his jaw slanted against the summer sun or his broad shoulders as they work overtime moving boxes out of Mrs. Leibowitz’s attic. But now, _finally_ , he gets a still model for a long period of time. At least, until Bucky starts getting antsy and fidgets too much for Steve to continue.

Steve sketches; caresses the lines of Bucky’s body with his pencil, shades in the shadowy depths of Bucky’s jaw and nose, and commits everything he can to paper and, what he can’t, to memory. Bucky sits mostly still, a perfect model, and grins at the finished product.

“Amazing, Stevie. You’re gonna be a real hotshot artist one day.” He nudges Steve over and slides into the bed with him. “Just promise me you’ll remember your old pal Buck who gave you your first real sketchbook when you’re living in a Manhattan building with a doorman and everything.”

“Course, Buck.” Bucky nods, like that settles it, and closes his eyes. He’s probably going to sleep here, as Steve’s ma doesn’t get back until morning and Steve needs company (at least Bucky thinks so). Steve watches as Bucky nods off, and when he’s completely slumped against the pillows, Steve turns back to his drawing. After he dates it, he finds himself looking at it intently.

He stares long and hard at it, at Bucky’s smiling grin, and is astounded at what he sees. Did he draw the overwhelming love in Bucky’s expression because that’s what was there or because that’s what he wanted to be there?

 

*~*~*

 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, eyes narrowed. Bruce, Clint, and Natasha exchange heavy looks. Steve disregards their strange behavior, as it is a common occurrence at the Tower when he stops by to visit, and makes his way over to the magazine Clint so subtly thrust across the room.

“Hey!” Clint jumps in front of him, blocking his path. “You don’t want to do that, Cap.”

“Clint.” Steve stares hard at him, showing him that, one way or another, Steve is going to read that magazine. Clint holds his ground for a few long moments before

“Yeah, okay.” He steps to the side, receiving angry looks from Bruce and Natasha. He shrugs his shoulders in a ‘what could I do?’ way. If _Captain America_ tells you to move out of the way, you move out of the way. Steve moves past him and bends down to pick up the magazine. He frowns at the cover.

“ _Captain America’s Old Sketchbook Found_?” Steve looks at all of them in confusion when suddenly something must occur to him because his eyes widen dramatically. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Clint asks. Steve fumbles through the pages until he gets to the article.

 

_Many artifacts from Captain America’s early years have been found since he “died” in 1945. Since there was no next of kin, anything that was found was free game to sell as memorabilia. I know, it sounds awful. This was just how it was. However, most of that stuff is old news nowadays. You’ve seen his old shoes in your textbooks, his old books in museums; no one is jumping for joy at an old pencil found in his apartment._

_Now, more than seventy years later, a new artifact has been found. The great-grandson of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes’ old landlord has discovered an old sketchbook of Rogers’ in his attic. Those diehard Cap fans out there know that Steve Rogers was a talented artist on top of everything else. This is a huge find for historians and fans alike!_

_The owner of the sketchbook, who would like to remain nameless, claims that, going by the dates, this sketchbook was used by Rogers before he underwent the procedure that turned him into a super-soldier and continued to be used well into the war. The owner also claims that there are some fairly intimate sketches done by Rogers, hinting to the idea that Rogers might have drawn Peggy Carter, his famous love-interest, in some less than flattering situations._

_Now, I know what you’re thinking; pics or it didn’t happen. I’m as annoyed as you, I promise, but the owner of the sketchbook isn’t giving out any details. Apparently, he has a deal with a museum that specifically states the price will be lowered if he gives out any information prior to the sale. Sounds pretty sleazy to me._

_Of course, with Rogers alive after all this time, the rights of ownership do come up. Is this man legally allowed to sell someone else’s property? As much as we want to know, this is private information, and like anyone else, Rogers is entitled to his privacy._

  
_Keep checking the magazine and our website for updates on the story!_

 

“Oh, God.” Steve drops the magazine and slumps back into the couch.

“What? What’s wrong? Did you really draw Agent Carter in her underthings?” Clint asks a bit too excitedly. Steve sends him a dark look.

“No. Our relationship was never-” Steve grimaces. “It never got to that point.”

“Oh.” Clint frowns, sitting down next to him. Then he gives Steve a weird look. “So you’re really a virgin? At your age? That must be a record. A ninety-seven year old virgin.” Steve looks extremely close to punching Clint in the face. As a precaution, Clint gets off the couch and takes a few steps back until his back hits the wall.

“If it wasn’t Agent Carter, who did you draw?” Natasha asks. Steve stares at his hands, the anger suddenly gone from his face.

 

*~*~*

 

“Here.” Bucky kneels down on his couch cushion, handing Steve a hot bowl of chicken soup. Steve glances at it, not in the mood to eat. “Come on, it’s good chicken. I even got pasta from the good Italian place.” Not wanting to seem ungrateful, Steve takes the bowl. Bucky settles into the cushion and grabs his own bowl.

They eat in relative quiet, just the slurping of soup breaking the silence. Steve’s heart pangs; if his ma was here, she’d scold them for so noisily slurping their soup. Bucky must be thinking the same thing, going by the look on his face. When they’re both finished, Bucky takes their bowls into the kitchen and washes everything. He comes back into the room to find Steve hasn’t moved at all.

“Want to listen to the radio?” he asks. Steve just shakes his head. Bucky sighs. “How about this; I’ll read aloud and you don’t even have to listen. You just need to hear something besides silence.”

As Bucky browses through the meager selection of novels Sarah and Steve have accumulated over the years, Steve notices his almost-never used sketchbook lying on the table next to one of his good pencils. He hasn’t used it since before his ma died; it just felt wrong to do something that brought him joy when she wasn’t here. All that’s in it is a sketch of Bucky, the building and clothesline across the street, and a few doodles of Bucky’s hands in the new gloves Steve bought him. So many pages, so fresh and clean for sketches.

Steve tears his eyes away from it when Bucky sits back down. He’s chosen The Hobbit, of course; he’s such a nerd. As Bucky makes himself comfortable and begins reading, Steve watches through a veil of despair. He’s alone now, no mother, no father. He’s the last Rogers there is. 19 years old and he’s totally and completely alone.

To keep himself from bursting into tears right there, he tries to focus on Bucky’s deep, soothing voice. He’s so good at reading aloud. He does it for his sisters all the time. Everything he says sounds real, like Steve could just step into the world Bucky’s describing and disappear there. A part of him wants to, but only if Bucky will come too. And Bucky never would.

Bucky has a life, a family, a job, other friends. Steve just has Bucky, his one and only connection to the rest of the world. Don’t get him wrong, Steve knows that Bucky thinks of Steve as his best friend too, but it’s not like Steve is his whole world like Bucky is his. But… he did say ‘til the end of the line. He _is_ here for Steve right now when he has no real reason to be. He could be home with his family and yet he’s here, with Steve. ‘Til the end of the line.

Suddenly, Steve wants to preserve this moment forever. He wants to remember Bucky sitting there, reading a book he’s read a hundred times, just hoping that somehow it will cheer Steve up. In a fit of nostalgia, Steve grabs for his sketchbook and pencil and starts sketching out the lines that make up Bucky. His model just keeps reading, aware of what’s happening but worried he will ruin it by commenting on it.

When Steve’s sketch is finished, as perfect as he can get it, Bucky is deeply asleep, book splayed across his chest. Steve turns to a new page and captures that as best as he can too. It’s extremely late when he finishes, or really early depending on how he sees it, so he dates both sketches and puts down his sketchbook and pencil. After putting a slip of paper into The Hobbit to mark the page and leaving that on the table, he makes himself comfortable on his own couch cushion that’s on the floor like when they were kids.

He falls asleep feeling like he isn’t alone for the first time since his ma passed away.

 

*~*~*

 

“I-” Steve stops. He looks almost as if he’s in pain as he tries to get it out. Clint feels incredibly guilty for his virgin comment as he realizes that this is more serious than he originally thought. Natasha reaches out a hand to squeeze Steve’s wrist, an offer of comfort, and Bruce just watches in equal parts worry and curiosity.

“No one here is going to judge you, Steve,” Natasha says sincerely. Steve shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Bucky and I, we-” Another deep breath. “We were more than just friends. It’s him in the drawings.”

It’s silent after his confession. Apparently, this is the first time Steve has ever had to come out to anybody. It’s obvious in his demeanor that he’s never said these words aloud before and Clint suddenly feels a rush of fury for everyone in the 40s. Steve never said anything for fear of being beaten, arrested, or even killed. And now he’s admitting it to some of his closest friends and he’s worried they’ll hate him for it like everyone back then would. God, does Clint want to hurt some old people right now.

“In these drawings, is it obvious that you two were…?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised to signify the end of the question. Steve looks up and into her eyes, nodding once. Judging by the intensity in his eyes, it’ll be pretty clear.

If Clint didn’t know how heavy the moment was, he’d probably be saying something along the lines of _Whoa, Captain America drew dirty pictures_. But he’s an adult, so he holds back. Well. The dark look from Nat might’ve been the biggest reason.

 

*~*~*

 

It’s early in the morning, a beautiful summer day, and on top of the usual sounds of New York are birds chirping. Sunlight streams in through the open window next to Steve’s bed and it hits Bucky just right. Bucky is currently lying face down in Steve’s bed, the sheets down around his waist. His back is bare and the lines of muscle and bone are perfectly highlighted by the sun. It’s a wonderful time to sketch.

Last night was… Steve doesn’t know what to call last night. It’s been building since-since maybe forever. Ever since that day when Steve watched Bucky smile and something deep inside him said _Him. He’s it_. Somehow, sometime since then, Bucky looked at Steve and felt the same exact way and it all led up to last night. Last night when Steve gathered all the courage in him he could find and kissed Bucky square on the mouth, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

And… and Bucky kissed him back. They kissed and kissed until they were too tired to kiss anymore. They fell asleep in Steve’s bed, since it’s the bigger of the two (which Bucky forced Steve to do, the martyr), and they didn’t even have to pretend it was just to keep warm. In nothing but their underclothes, they held each other without guilt or shame.

It hasn’t caught up with Steve yet like he thought it would. He thought he’d wake up and all the shame and sin would crash over him like a bad hangover. Luckily, it’s almost the complete opposite. As he sits in bed, staring intently at Bucky’s back with the sun streaming in and the chirping birds in the air, the only thing he feels is a blinding, dizzying euphoria.

Before Bucky can wake, Steve finds his sketchbook and a pencil. He settles back in bed and flips to a blank page. It takes a short while, as he’s filled a lot of pages with secret sketches of Bucky and other things around the neighborhood. When he happens upon a clean sheet, he begins to copy down the picture Bucky makes. He starts with Bucky’s shoulders, his strong worker’s shoulders. Using that as a starting point, he traces the lines of Bucky’s back, smooth and firm, down the page. It happens in a focused blur after that; the teasing edge of the sheet, the mussed up hair of the back of Bucky’s head, his hand curled just right resting oh so innocently on the pillow.

Bucky must wake up sometime during it, as his breathing stops being so slow and peaceful, but he doesn’t move. Always a good model. When the pencil scratching stops, Bucky pushes himself up and turns towards Steve, the softest smile Steve has ever seen gracing his features.

“What’re ya drawin’, Stevie?” His Brooklyn accent always comes out thicker in the morning. Steve loves it so much that he leans over and kisses those Brooklyn talkin’ lips, morning breath and all. The soft smile is gone when Steve pulls back; replaced with a grin so wide it looks like it hurts.

“You,” Steve answers. Bucky shuffles in his sheets.

“Yeah? I a good model?” Steve grins, hoping his face doesn’t look as stupidly happy as Bucky’s does.

“The worst,” Steve says affectionately. Bucky rolls his eyes and sits up in bed. He stretches his arms, working out the kinks, and Steve watches unabashedly, appreciating the muscles working.

“You’re awful model is gonna go make you breakfast,” he says, slipping out of bed. Steve watches him go, so happy his heart is fit to burst.

“He’s redeeming himself a little,” Steve teases. “As long as he makes eggs!” he calls after Bucky.

“Yes, darlin’,” Bucky drawls back. Steve laughs, falling back into the pillows. Before Bucky calls him to breakfast, which they eat slumped against one another in complete bliss, Steve sketches the barest outlines of the soft smile his sleep warmed Bucky gave him this morning. This time, he knows that the love in the simple curve of the lips is not his imagination.

 

*~*~*

 

Camera flashes may have gotten less blinding in the past seventy years, but it doesn’t mean that seventeen of them flashing at once won’t make heads spin. This Steve learns as he tries to push his way through the throng of reporters to get inside the court house. Today is the date of his trial with Mark Jacosfvy, the great-grandson of Steve’s landlord.

He really wishes they could’ve done this without involving lawyers. Elijah Jacosfvy was a wonderful man and landlord. He used to let Steve and Bucky be a little late with the rent every month during the winter when money was tight. But apparently this nice trait wasn’t inherited by Mark, because when Steve kindly asked for the sketchbook back, Mark refused. Steve even offered to pay him for it but Mark said “I’ve already told everyone about it; I have to make it public.”

The museum Mark is selling it to says that they don’t want it if it isn’t legally Mark’s so that’s why they’re in court. Today they’re going to state the facts and a judge is going to decide who the book belongs to. Everyone at the Tower assured Steve that no judge in his right mind would chose not to give an American icon like himself back his own sketchbook. Steve isn’t so sure.

Laws can be tricky, and the rights of ownership probably don’t last through seventy years and a confirmed death.

 

*~*~*

 

The flap to Steve’s tent is pulled up and Steve glances away from his sketchbook long enough to see that it’s Bucky. He comes in quietly, sitting down on Steve’s cot down by his feet and just watching him sketch. He notices how worn this sketchbook is and realizes it must be one of his early ones, even though Steve buys a new sketchbook every couple of months or so. Eventually, as he gets a little bored of watching Steve sketch, Bucky picks up a stray novel from Steve’s pile at the end of his cot and begins to thumb through it. A lot of lonely nights on tour led to Steve accumulating a nicely sized book collection.

After a while, the silence gets suffocating, and Bucky, always one to know when Steve’s feeling uncomfortable, says, “What’re you sketching?”

“You,” Steve answers, shading in the stubble on Bucky’s jaw. “In your uniform.” Bucky scoffs.

“What uniform?” He holds his hand out for the book and Steve hands it over. Bucky stares down at it for a long while, himself in his nice blue jacket with all the buttons done up, looking at something deeper in it that Steve can’t see. After some time, he turns back a page to see himself again, this time in the getup he was wearing during the march back to camp after Steve found him in that Hydra facility. The weariness and exhaustion he felt at the time is clear in the picture. Bucky smiles a little at Steve’s skill; he would’ve made an amazing artist. Going back one more page greets Bucky with himself a third time, this time in the dress uniform he wore on his last day in Brooklyn.

“That one’s from memory, so it might be off,” Steve says self-consciously. Bucky nods, though he isn’t listening too well. There’s a strange mixture of cockiness and fear in the picture’s expression, exactly what Bucky had been feeling that night. Steve always sees what Bucky tries to hide.

“They’re all great, Stevie,” Bucky says, handing back the book. Steve flushes a little, just a small patch of pink in the apples of his cheeks.

“Thanks.” Bucky watches as he flips to a new page and starts, no doubt, sketching Bucky once again. He wants to say something cocky, like _What? Is this your Bucky Barnes sketchbook or somethin’?_ But something heavier weighs on his mind. He’s been thinking this over for a while now and he wants Steve to know before it’s too late.

“You know, if I don’t make it out-” Steve looks up in alarm, ripped away from his quiet sketching.

“Buck-” Steve’s interruption is cut off by Bucky.

“No, I want you to hear this.” Steve shuts his mouth, drowning his protest, but he doesn’t look happy about it. “If I don’t make it outta this war- and it’s a possibility, don’t deny it- I want you to marry Peggy.”

“Bucky, I don’t-” Bucky cuts him off again. Going by the punk’s expression, he’s getting pretty annoyed at being constantly cut off.

“You _do_ , I know you do. And if I don’t make it, I want you to be happy. Just name your first son Bucky for me- or James, Bucky’s a shit name.” Bucky grins cheekily and Steve sends him a dirty look in reply.

“Fine, but only because we’re both makin’ it out. No exceptions.” As Steve goes back to sketching, this time angry and harsh with his lines, Bucky hears what Steve didn’t say. _Either we both make it out or we both don’t_. And it scares the shit out of him because he knows without a doubt that he’s not making it out of this war unscathed.

 

*~*~*

 

“After examining the facts that go along with this peculiar case,” the judge says. “I’ve ruled in favor of Mr. Jacosfvy. After seventy years of possession, it’s legally owned by the Jacosfvy family. I’m sorry, Captain Rogers.” And he genuinely looks sincere about his apology.

Steve nods back and turns to leave the court room. He’s devastated, and he’s not entirely sure why. It’s not that everyone will know that he and Bucky were in a relationship, he doesn’t really care about that. It had to come out sometime, and at least now people everywhere who are living in fear or confused or completely sure and safe will have a public figure that’s on their side.

But that sketchbook. It was his, his intimate thing. Given to him by someone he loved- and still loves- so much it hurts. Filled with moments he captured of the two of them, things no one ever knew about. It was a connection to his past, something else that shared the memories only he remembers now. If Bucky never remembers what happened, that sketchbook will be the only thing besides Steve that remembers a time when things were, not perfect, but _good_.

And to think of that shared with the whole world…

It just hurts.

 

*~*~*

 

Steve wakes up panting heavily, breathing like he’s having an asthma attack. The air is cold and his face is wet and Bucky isn’t here to rub soothing circles into his back anymore. When he calms down, he drops his face into his hands and tries to keep his sobs quiet. He wishes he was drunk, wishes he could _get_ drunk, so that everything he’s feeling right now would just be duller. It’s too much emotion in such a short time and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Bucky fell because Steve couldn’t catch him in time. There’s nothing left of his-his Bucky (because how else can Steve describe him?) except the extra jacket and a few cigarettes he won off Jimmy in a game of cards. Steve doesn’t know how to deal with this in a way that doesn’t have him offing himself right now. He needs to wait until the morning, when he attacks the final Hydra base left.

Tomorrow he will die and he will be with Bucky. It’s all going to be okay.

Suddenly, he remembers his sketchbook and scrambles out of his cot to find it. It’s under a few papers on his make-shift desk made out of a crate. He starts thumbing through it, focusing on the careful lines of Bucky’s handsome face. Steve’s tears never stop as he looks through it. When the sun comes up, Steve is asleep; his cheeks stained with salt and his thumb still pressed into the lead lines of Bucky’s smiling face.

 

*~*~*

 

A few weeks later, when the war is won and things have been settled, a box of Captain Steven Rogers’ things are shipped to the address put on his form and a man named Elijah Jacosfvy finds them. He looks through the items and gives everything except the sketchbook to the Barnes family, the closest thing Steve had besides Bucky to family. The sketchbook Elijah puts in a box in his attic, knowing that it’s a private thing that Steve would’ve wanted to stay a secret.

Seventy years later, Mark Jacosfvy is sent by his mother to the attic to help clear away some boxes and finds something worth an extreme amount of money.

 

*~*~*

 

The night before the sketchbook is supposed to have its big debut, the museum is broken into. Nothing is disturbed except for the sketchbook. The case it was being kept in is perfectly intact, none of the trip wires were hit, and not one security camera can catch even a glimpse of the thief.

Obviously, the first suspect is Captain America. His Brooklyn apartment and the entire Avengers Tower are searched head to toe but nothing is found. Steve stays quiet through the entire process, annoyed but understanding. He is the most obvious suspect. Aside from being annoyed, though, he does try to figure out for himself who might’ve taken the sketchbook.

Natasha already told him it wasn’t her, and though she’s lied before, he believes her. Clint wouldn’t have been able to pull it off, as he was nursing a broken ankle at the time. Bruce isn’t known for his stealth skills, so he’s out. Stark didn’t even know what was happening and neither did Thor. Sam, as great as he is, doesn’t have the means or training of doing it. Fury wouldn’t care that much and Coulson has too much on his plate. Hill tries not to get too invested in their lives for her own sanity.

All of his suspects have been cleared. Steve is completely baffled.

Until one night he comes home to his apartment and turns on the light to find Bucky standing in the middle of his living room. Steve slowly puts down his keys and coat, so as not to spook him, and takes cautious steps over to Bucky. Bucky watches this all with intent eyes, though not so much as he’s cataloging Steve’s every move, but more like he’s amused and trying not to show it.

“Hi, Buck,” Steve says, trying for casual. A soft huff escapes Bucky’s nose, letting Steve know he didn’t pull off casual, not one bit.

“I heard you were lookin’ for this,” Bucky says, his voice scratchy but firm. Steve looks down between them to see that Bucky’s holding out the infamous sketchbook. Steve smiles.

“Don’t need it now.” He looks up, knowing he’s got a stupid looking grin on his face. “I’ve got the original.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! I had a lot of fun with this one. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
